Hi Chris. Hi. Good morning. Man, it's too bad you couldn't be over here this past weekend to join us for a really spectacular trail run with some Amish friends.

Sounds great. Do you run with the Amish a lot? Increasingly, yeah. There's a group out here that has just started becoming really passionate about running. Passionate in a way I think most of us forget about. They're not only running marathons, but they're trying to improve their one mile time. I just saw these dudes recently, and this guy's in his 30s, and he says, "Yeah, I just did a 4.50 mile."

Do they wear old fashioned running kit? If they're out in the world, they'll wear shorts and T-shirt, but if they're at home for local runs they'll wear their long pants and long shirts.

And what about footwear? You know, pretty conventional, normal running shoes. It's funny because the Amish tend to go barefoot all the time, so that whole question about running shoes is probably among the most intense conversations I've had with them about running.

Did you suggest they try running barefoot? You know, I try never to encourage anybody to do anything. It's interesting; their approach to running is really rudimentary because it's not a sport they're familiar with. You know the Amish don't really do recreational sports. They're working a lot so they don't have that excess energy to burn. Curiously they're coming at running like this was 1957, so they go to the running magazines, and the magazines say "you need shoes", so they buy the shoes.

Your book Born to Run has been a huge success. How has your life changed since it was published? In a way, from the book perspective, nothing has changed. But from the running perspective, everything has changed. I run all the time now. I don't get hurt. Getting hurt is not an issue on my mind anymore. In that regard it changed everything, on a personal level.

How about the Tarahumara [the Mexican tribe Chris runs with in the book] – has the book affected their lives at all? Not to my knowledge, except for the fact that Caballo's race [the book ends with an ultra-marathon in Mexico, organised by an American called Caballo Blanco] has become a spectacular success, and it seems to be accomplishing the goal he had, which was to raise their profile in a way that they would gain some protection.

And does that race still run every year? Yeah. Caballo passed away last March but his girlfriend has done an unbelievable job keeping it going. I think there were something like 400 Tarahumara runners last year. When I ran we had 20 and I was shocked.

So the race has made running even more popular among them? Yeah. It's an interesting thing because one of the concerns Caballo had was that the running tradition was dying out, the incentive was just disappearing, and that was partly why he started the race. He wanted to accomplish two things. One was to give the champions the attention they deserved, and secondly to demonstrate to them that there was a value in continuing this tradition.

With your book, you brought the concept of barefoot running to the world's attention and, almost singlehandedly it seems, created this huge barefoot/minimalist movement. But I seem to remember that in the book you don't do it yourself. The only barefoot runner I'd ever heard of at that point was Barefoot Ted, and he's like the least credible source of information on the planet. It is funny that the message of the book has been transformed into something that really isn't in the book. The point I was trying to make over and over again in the book is that running is a skill, and you need to learn the skill. Emil Zátopek wore army boots, I was wearing retro running shoes, Scott Jurek was wearing his Cascadia, Ted was wearing Vibram FiveFingers, the Tarahumara were wearing sandals. It's not what is on your feet, it's what your feet are doing.

You mentioned earlier that your own running has been transformed. Does that mean you've learned the skill of running? Is that what you've done differently? Now every time I run, every step I'm focusing on form. I think about it all the time, and I think that's a really exciting thing. People think it's going to be monotonous, but it's part of the process of mastering the skill. I think that's why people love yoga, or why Picasso enjoyed painting. If it were easy, that's when it becomes boring. I think what happens with most people who aren't focusing on form, they always have music playing in their ears or they're watching TV on a treadmill, because they're not thinking about form and they're bored.

So how did you learn the skill of running? Did someone teach you? I had lots of teachers. In retrospect, when I was starting all this back in 2004 there were no mainstream conversations about running form. There were a couple of very good guys teaching Pose and Chi, but they were considered marginalised. There was nowhere you could go to learn running form. If you went to the running magazines, it was never, ever about running form.

But since then I've discovered there are just a couple of basic drills you can do which I think are in some ways better than the teachers, because the difficulty with being taught is that movement doesn't translate very well into language. Someone tells you to do something, but you do something very different.

I found this 100-Up exercise to be really effective. I do it all the time. When I'm stuck at my desk, I set my watch to beep every hour and I do 30 seconds of running in place. And then when I'm in the middle of a run, I'll stop, if I have shoes on I'll take them off, and do the same thing: 30 seconds of running in place. I find my form tends to get really sloppy, and so I need to sharpen it up.

And when you say "running in place", that's doing the 100-Up, is it? Yeah, basically it's running in place; the only things you need to be conscious of is making sure your knee comes as high as your waist, that you're keeping your back straight and that your feet are landing in exactly the same spot. But you must have done similar drills. Aren't the Kenyans really drill conscious? (Adharanand wrote the book Running with the Kenyans)

They're not actually, no. I went to Ethiopia, and the Ethiopians are very drill conscious. But I think the Kenyans have such natural strength in their bodies that perhaps they don't need drills as much as we in the west do. Yeah, my take on it was that if you've grown up learning proper running form naturally, shoes are not an issue, drills are not an issue, you've already got it hardwired into your muscle memory. But for the rest of us, we're always on the verge of regressing.

Yeah, I feel like that. I don't do your 100-Up, although I'm intrigued to try it now, but I have my own equivalent exercises. Oh yeah, like what?

Well, mostly deep squats. Isn't that like the reset button? I feel like the deep squat cures all. Whenever I have some sort of twinge and I can't quite sort it out, I'm like, squats.

I know you said shoes is not the issue, but what do you wear to run in? I try to approach shoes like clothes: wear as little as possible. I choose them for function and not for style. Whenever possible, I go barefoot. I only look at the shoe as a form of protection. As shocking as it was for me to meet Barefoot Ted all those years ago and hear what he was talking about, he has actually come up with a really good running shoe. His Luna Sandals are, against all odds, superb. But like this trail race at the weekend, I heard it was going to be really stoney, so I decided not to go with the sandal but I wore a minimal shoe, I think it was the New Balance Minimus. It's a bit like looking at the golf bag and choosing the club you need.

Have your views on barefoot running changed since you wrote the book? In a way I'm glad I wrote the book at the point where I was still learning and questioning, because now I'm so fervent I'd be absolutely intolerable to listen to. Back then I was unsure about this stuff, and I was just recreating my own learning process.

I hear you're writing another book. What is that about? I'm trying to keep it mostly to myself, but basically it's looking at world war two resistance fighters. It should be out next spring.

Where is your favourite place to run? Right here in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I've been in a lot of places, but I just love these hills out here. It's really hilly, woody, rocky, really varied, lots of creeks and streams and stuff. It's really fun.

What's your favourite running gadget? I think Ted's Luna sandals. I have no connection with them at all, I make fun of Ted non-stop, but I'm crazy about his sandals.

Do you ever listen to music while you run? Only in my head. I feel like when I'm running I'm trying to get stuff out of my head, not put stuff in.

What is the worst thing about running? [Long pause] You know, I'm really stumped for an answer. I think probably the way running has been turned into a competitive activity and is no longer considered play.

What's the furthest distance you've ever run? Fifty miles. I was supposed to be doing 100 miles in one of those races and I realised that 100 is not 50 x 2. It's like 50 x 5. I tried to do Leadville [a 100-mile trail race] one year and I got timed out at halfway.

Final question. Who is the greatest runner ever? Geronimo. Honestly, this guy was doing 80 miles a day, with a whole tribe with him being chased by the cavalry. It was nuts. But my sentimental favourite, I have to go with Emil Zátopek. Those two.